


Rakyat

by Spiltlava



Category: Far Cry 3
Genre: M/M, Might be continued in the future tbh, Originally going to be a full story but I just don't have the time to continue this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 13:43:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3175188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiltlava/pseuds/Spiltlava
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rook Island was beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rakyat

Rook Island was beautiful.

That was Jason’s first thought when he arrived with his friends, his brothers, and they all stepped onto the sand, heated by the day’s sun.

Rook Island was amazing.

He thought that when they were in the bar, drinking like imbeciles.

 

Rook Island was terrifying.

When he woke up in the cage, his oldest brother Grant sitting across from him, tied up with duct tape over his mouth all the same.

 

So caught up in his whirlwind of thoughts, he hadn’t realized someone was talking, until they were saying his name, commenting about his phone, how nice it was. But he couldn’t really, truly focus, instead trying to ignore the fact he hasn’t gone to the bathroom or, or washed his face. Why is he thinking of such trivial fucking things when he’s  tied up in a cell ?

 

The thoughts don’t bother him again for a while, not while Grant kills the guard and gets them both out, not when they’re sneaking through the underbrush, under some wooden bridges. Not when he throws a rock to distract some guards, hands trembling so heavily he wonders if he’s even going to be able to throw in a straight line.

 

Yet when Grant gets shot in the neck, Jason has thoughts. Not those thoughts, no. He has fearful thoughts, worry and honest terror courses through him, violent and calm all in one.

Someone’s talking to him, it’s that guy from earlier. Who he’d seen yelling at others like him, prisoners. Hostages?

It doesn’t matter, what matters, is that he has to get out of there. Has to run away from the guy yelling at him. He’s telling him to run.

He does, he runs through the hail of gunfire, through the dogs trained to attack, even through the helicopter trying to locate him with bright lights. And just when he thinks he’s through, when he’s crossing that bridge, it’s shot down. And he falls, and falls, and falls. Into the water below.

His vision gets darker, darker, darker. He thinks “ _I’m going to die,_ ”, he thinks “ _This is it,_ ”, he thinks “ _I’m too young, what about mom?_ ”. His eyes are burning with the sensation of the salty water.

But there’s a hand then, pulling him up, and, up, and up. Out of the water. He gasps for air but he still can’t get enough, and the world tips out from under him.

 

He wakes up to another man, with kinder features, and darker eyes. He’s ticking something into Jason’s arm, tapping, tapping, _tapping_. The American doesn’t know what it is, and he is confused. And in his confusion he reaches for the knife, yet a blink and the man is above him, his own pointed straight at him.

“You have the right to take my life,” He had said. “Just know that I will also take yours.”

That was when he met Dennis. Kind as he is.

* * *

 

That was then, this was now.

Jason has come to… Resent Dennis in a way. For giving him the tatau. Especially while he was asleep, without his consent. It wasn’t harmful, no. If anything, it opened his eyes to his true potential. But he was still upset, and angry, and as the days went by, he began to resent the Rakyat themselves. It wasn’t their fault, but he never could stop what he was feeling.

It’s a gross feeling, churning and burning away his insides. Pouring through the cracks in his mindset, reminding him through his pores of what was forced upon him. What was shoved in his arms with no explanation, no guidelines.

He’s a _photographer_ , not a warrior. His girlfriend was an actress, she just got the part she wanted so badly. His younger brother just got his airplane license and… And he didn’t even go to the graduation ceremony. Grant. Grant was in the war, he told fun stories to their friends, but whispered the horrible ones to him and him alone. Grant’s dead now, and all he’s left with is this _shitty fucking tattoo_?

He shouldn’t be the warrior that’s going to save them all, he doesn’t  want  to be that warrior. Those roles were saved for his older brother, who was  trained  for that kind of thing.

He was Jason Brody, American rich kid who had so much to do back in the states. He went skydiving, parasailing, mountain climbing, snowboarding. He was  good  at those. He was a  slacker  that’s what he  did . This? This wasn’t what he did, this wasn’t what he was  made  to  do .

 

The more Dennis roped him into doing their dirty work, for the simple reason that he escaped Vaas’ camp, the more he began to think of ways to get rid of him. To severe himself from the Rakyat. To remove himself from their cause, that he still had no interest in.

The only reason he hadn’t so far… He couldn’t save his friends on his own, and Dennis knew the island better than he. Yet Jason knew, he knew that when he explored more, climbed to the top of the radio towers and marked more of his map, he knew that he would no longer need the man who pushed and prodded, forced the tatau on his arm.

He would learn this island, and he would learn it quickly.

 

Which is why he’s here, hanging from the edge of a hard metal ledge, having detached itself from the original structure, a good twenty feet upon, if not more. He’s sure he’d survived-- he’d fallen off worse-- but he’s all but out of syringes, and hasn’t gotten to harvesting anymore green leaves. Too distracted by dodging wild animals that found him more interesting that their normal activities. Too busy running, ducking,  hiding .

He thinks, what would happen if he tried to get in contact with Vaas, offered to join him? Because with his current feeling about the Rakyat right now, he’s pretty sure he could kill one or two without feeling regret.


End file.
